


Proof Against the Weather

by pharis



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pharis/pseuds/pharis
Summary: It's hard for John to believe in safety.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in early season 2, after Root's kidnapping of Harold.

John started to cuff Parrish to a park bench and then thought better of it. He was a punk and would-be kidnapper, but letting him freeze to death was probably overkill. Instead, John yanked the squalling kid behind him for two blocks until he found a squad car and dumped him in. A foot of snow came down onto his neck in the process, and John smiled.

John found his way onto a bit of clear sidewalk and touched his earpiece. “Next time you send me out in this, Harold, I want hot chocolate.” There was a faint crackle on the line before Harold replied.

“I’m sure your field allowance amply covers a few visits to a coffee shop, Mr. Reese. Is Mr. Parrish safely dealt with?”

“All stowed away. What’s next?”

The discomfort that John was ignoring must have come through in his tone, because instead of giving him another number or telling him to stand down, Harold asked, “And you? Hardly ideal conditions out there. . . . Everything all right?”

John took stock. Shoes ruined; coat probably likewise. He was soaked in icy slush and his left knee throbbed where he’d slipped to the pavement. He stuck his right hand inside his jacket so that it wouldn’t be too numb with cold to work a phone or a gun. He’d have to get inside soon, but there was no real damage. “Just fine. Enjoying this lovely day.”

There was an answering dryness in Harold’s voice. “I think ‘lovely’ was at least two feet ago. Thirty-six inches in two days is only lovely in postcards.” There was a pause. “If you’d like to come back to the library instead of your apartment, we have the generator.” There had been sporadic blackouts all over the city as the weight of snow took down line after line and Con Ed struggled to keep up.

Good. John wouldn’t have to arrange an excuse for them to get stuck together at the library overnight. Harold was becoming less twitchy about going out after the incident with Root, and that complacency could be exactly the opportunity she was looking for. John had become more wary as Harold grew less.

John replied, “I’ll be there in half an hour, Harold. How’s Bear?”

“Unusually restive. I believe he likes the snow.”

John picked up his pace. Maybe that’s all it was. Still, he kept the line open, making just enough small talk to justify it. Harold was wrong—the city _was_ lovely today, all gray lines and soft contours in the continuing light snowfall. There was only a trickle of traffic, and there seemed to be as many kids playing in the snow as adults bowed against the wind and cursing the slush. It was going to take him a lot more than a half hour, though—the footing was slippery where a path had been worn and hard going where the snow was still thick.

Harold seemed a little distracted today. John heard the keyboard tapping in the background, and an occasional dissatisfied grunt.

“Everything all right there, Harold?”

“Two cell towers in the vicinity are inoperative and a third seems to be on its battery backup, so the others are overloaded. I’m sure the repair crews won’t be able to reach them any time soon. I may have to—” A burst of static interrupted him, and John lost several words. “—not ideal.”

John checked his phone: dry and undamaged. “Say again?”

“I said we may have to switch to satellite communications, which for several reasons is not ideal.” The words faded in and out.

“I’m about to head into the subway. If the relay’s not working and we lose touch, just sit tight.”

“I want to go out for a moment, but I’ll be back soon. _Blijf_ , Bear.”

“What? No, Harold, take Bear with you.” There was a soft crackle. “Harold?” John was into the subway station now and couldn’t tell whether they’d lost contact because the cell relays weren’t working again or for some other reason. He only had to go a few stops, and then it was five blocks to the library’s south entrance. No, he couldn’t use that one—tracks in the snow would reveal that it was in use. Around to their usual entrance, then, which had better cover.

At the next-to-last station, the cell relays picked up something; Harold had kept their connection open. But there was no reply to John’s greeting, just Harold’s labored breathing in the background, and then a sharp exhale. That was a fall, or a shove. Harold was in some mild physical distress and couldn’t answer him. Root. Root had knocked out the cell towers, tempted or prodded Harold out of the relative security of the library, and John was stuck in a subway car and Harold didn’t even have the _dog_ —

At his station, the audio went out again, dead silence without even static to connect them. John took the escalator stairs two at a time and promptly went skidding on a patch of ice, whacking his elbow painfully against a railing. He was up again and jogging carefully toward the library, compensating for the conditions and scanning the few passersby. Three minutes thirty—she could have made it maybe a block if she had him in a wheelchair. Five minutes—surely in a vehicle by now. The containment zone expanded in the map in John’s head, too large; he’d never catch up.

Harold would have left some kind of message, transmitted something back to his computers at the library, if he’d had even a moment’s warning. That would be John’s first stop—intel and weapons. He barely took time to close the door behind him, rushing up the familiar cluttered staircase toward his small arsenal.

John stopped in the doorway. Harold was sitting at his computer. The lights in their main room were on, making a cozy glow against the tall black windows. Bear lifted his head in greeting. He was perfectly relaxed.

Harold was fine. He turned awkwardly as he said hello, then shifted to turn further. “Good heavens, John, you look awful. You must be freezing.” A shiver gripped John. He _was_ freezing; he’d been wet and cold for hours. Harold was awkwardly trying to lift a towel to John’s head, and John bent his head and lifted his hands to help him. Harold was fine. He was tugging at John’s coat, urging him to get changed into something dry.

John interrupted him. “What happened to the phone? It went out—and then it sounded like you fell.”

Harold made an face. “I did. The snow was rather much for me. I should have put vanity aside and used a cane today. But I’m quite all right, only a bit embarrassed.” He held out a fresh set of clothes to John and looked at him. His expression softened. “Nothing’s wrong, John. Everything’s fine.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment more. John felt as unsteady as he had on the ice outside. The kettle whistled and rescued him. John changed quickly into the dry clothes while Harold did something in the kitchen area. “What did you go outside for, anyway? It’s miserable out there today.” John sat down—warm and dry and comfortable, safe, the base secured and the mission complete—while Harold brought them two mugs on a small tray.

“Seeing as the conditions today have been particularly trying,” Harold said, a little diffidently, “I thought you might enjoy some hot chocolate.” John nodded and hid his smile in the mug.

 

 

 


End file.
